i have an excuse!

It has been far too long... I promise not to be so remiss again. I have too many excuses. I was one of the chefs for the James Beard Media Awards in NY, I did some events at Aspen Food and Wine, I was teaching for a few weeks in Provence and Tuscany, I shot 26 new TV shows "Joanne Weir's Cooking Class," I tested 60 recipes for my newest book, I did a dinner for the Napa Valley Wine Auction, I went to Mexico to research my newest book, I had a weeklong cooking class in my kitchen where I also shoot my TV show, I celebrated my birthday and just YESTERDAY, I managed to make my book deadline! That's why they call it a deadline! This is true reason for celebration. Bring out the tequila! Not just any tequila, I'd like a Riedel tequila glass topped up with some 7 Leguas D'Antano.

Yes folks, I just finished a book devoted to tequila. It all started years ago when I fell in love... With tequila that is! I started a group called Agave Girls, for women who appreciate tequila. Ay caramba... it took off! Ten Speed Press asked me to write a book about tequila and the rest is history. About 30 food recipes and 40 cocktails from the best bartenders in the country who specialize in tequila. This meant lots of tequila research! It will be released on Cinco de Mayo '09.

Did I tell you that I love my job!? I even made a trip to Guadalajara and checked out the Highlands and Lowlands of Jalisco where 100% blue agave reigns supreme. I visited 7 Leguas and had lunch at with Fernando and Isabel, the owners at their gorgeous hacienda, spent a morning chatting it up with Carlos, owner of El Tesoro and traipsed through the mud at Partida agave fields. And of course, I tasted a lot of great tequila!

colors of rajasthan

I loved the chaos of Delhi and the beauty of the Taj Mahal but really I think I loved
Rajasthan the most. In the northwest corner of India, smack dab in the middle of the desert, the people compensate for the monochromatic browns of the desert by wearing brilliant colors. The
people are so friendly and nice, they keep saying that my smile is the sign of luck and fortune. I feel it here. We visited a Kumbhalgarh Fort whose walls are the second longest continuous wall in the world after the Great Wall of China. We hiked to the top. We're the only Caucasians and I'm photographing all the Indian women in their colorful saris. One young girl, maybe 18 years old, was particularly beautiful. I asked her if I could take a picture of her. She shook her head yes. Thank God for digital cameras because the payback for shooting a photo is to show them the photo of themselves. I said to her, "You are so beautiful!" and she came back to me with "You are handsome!" We exchanged those same exact words a few more times until I realized those are the only words she knows. More than I know in Indian.

what the freak is an amla?

Riding along on the bus between Delhi and Agra, the traffic is crazy. Our bus dodges cows, horse-drawn buggies, women in colorful sarees carrying brass urns of water on their head, stray dogs, camel carts piled with hay. You take your life in your hands on the roads of India. This says nothing of the noise. Horns tooting non-stop, back and forth like they are speaking to each other. And what's with the men pissing on the side of the road? I don't get it. No bathrooms? We spotted an outdoor market. Those of us crazy enough about food screamed to stop the bus! In minutes, clad with cameras, we were in the middle of the madness. Imagine the scene, burlap blankets scattered on the ground piled high with guava and amla, the Indian gooseberries. Vendors crouched on their haunches prepared to sell. The smell of guava permeated the air. Almost too sweet to keep smelling. Only men, not a single women. All eyes, every single one, were on us. No longer was selling fruit the spectacle. I took out my camera on the sly. I didn't want to act like a National Geographic photographer but honestly they would have killed for the shots.. As soon as I opened the viewfinder, I had hoards of men and boys around me like a magnet . And what I didn't understand is that they don't want to steal my camera, they wanted to see themselves in the screen. Thank God for digital cameras. I'm shooting furiously and as soon as I'd take the shot I's show them the image of themself. It's was a frenzy. I had masses around me. I moved through the market and they'd move with me. We started to leave and the swarm, like bees, left with us. The further away from the market we got, the smaller the swarm until finally I had one final stragler, a 8-year old boy who was next to me as I got ready to get on the bus. Just then he said to me, "Pen?'". Then I remembered the guide books and how the kids love pens. I search my purse and found one. In the process I find a Hersey's Chocolate Kiss. I hand him the pen and the Kiss. He shoved the pen in his pocket. He looks at the chocolate kiss wrapped in foil. He makes a gesture like popping the whole thing in his mouth. I can't help but think about aluminum foil against my teeth and I cringe. NO, NO, take the foil off first! I show him how. Cautiously he puts it in his mouth. I wait. One second, then two. He looks almost scared. Finally a smile comes over his face as the chocolate melts in his mouth. His first experience eating chocolate!

loving taj

How do I know that I want a book of postcards if I haven't seen the site yet? We got off the bus and headed towards a place I'd always dreamed about. Postcard salesmen were everywhere. I dodged them going in and out of their maze. I know their tricks now. I don't even glance in their direction. And finally we were inside the gates. Ahhh yes,-- quiet, peace, tranquility. We headed towards the arch that will divide my life between the moment before I first saw the Taj Mahal and the moment after. I waited in the darkness of the arch for a moment, eyes closed, trying to collect my thoughts. Somehow I knew this would forever change me. I took a step towards light and a deep breath. I opened my eyes and before me was something my dreams are made of. The most elegant female form of architecture I had ever laid eyes on, the TAJ. I had seen photos and travel clips so many times before in my life but nothing could touch the reality of her magnificence. Tears welled in my eyes. Yes, pinch me, I'm in India and this white marble homage of love is before me. Emperor Shah Jahan had it built as a mausoleum for his beloved wife who died giving birth to their 14th child. This is true testament that yes, Allah, there is true love! (And now my dear Jehuda, I have found it!)

india first class

I hate getting up early but we had to. Suvir insisted that in order to see India, we needed to take a train. After getting home from KaKa's party where I danced with the eunuchs until well into the night, getting up at 4:30 AM, with just 3 hours sleep, is just not civilized. And imagine the train station. It made Penn Station look and feel like a walk in the park. People sleeping everywhere. We stepped over bodies tangled on the floor to the platform and stood with the beggars until the train arrived. We were lucky... First class! And even luckier, we were traveling luggage-less. (The bus went head of us with all the luggage.) On board we found our way to the first class car which meant we sat on orange plastic-padded rock-hard seats with air conditioning that was nothing more than a rotary fan set on high. We were happy we all had our own seats next to men in rumpled business suits and quasi-hip Indians attached to cell phones like lifelines. And luckier not to be packed tightly into economy with screaming kids and chickens in cages. The service put American Airlines to shame. A biscuit was served by the Indian train equivalent of a grouchy flight attendent but la piece de resistance,-- deep-fried vegetable cutlets and cold, soggy french fries. Tough to resist this 6:00 AM breakfast but I just couldn't get it past my lips. By 8:30 AM, we were in Agra, and headed for breakfast and the unparalleled Taj Mahal.

dancing with eunuchs

"What are you wearing tonight Joanne?" Suvir asked. The bus tried to make it's way to KaKa's house but after a while, we had to give up. The road was too narrow, the tree limbs too low, the bus too big. We had to walk. Here we were, a tribe of fourteen hobbling along in Prada heels and Armani slacks held up with Gucci belts , led by a turban-clad Indian wrapped in an ivory sari through the tiniest village. It was really dark, the town lit by a little sliver of moon. The villagers stared as we made our way along the dirt road dodging cows, dogs and hungry kids. The village eyes were on us. I caught them again and again. As much as I was interested in them, so too, they were interested in us. Around one last corner, our guide unfolded his hand to show us the entrance. Ahhhh.... Sanctuary. We had arrived for dinner at the home of KaKa, Suvir's friend. KaKa met us in the courtyard wearing a red turban and wrapped in a saree all gilded with gold. To paint an even better picture, this raging queen is a friend of Paul Smith and Missoni. He's a designer, surprise, surprise! And the house was magnificent. From ground up, he built it over a 3 years with antique pieces and artifacts. Chosen by Elle Decor and Architectural Digest as one of the top 10 homes in the world. So imagine! Hundreds and hundreds of candles, thousand year old columns, red rose petals, inlaid tiles, marble, incense and white-gloved waiters dying for me to be their passage to America. We ate kebabi, hot from the tandoor, and so rich with fat that they melted in my mouth along with the tart and spicy mango pickle and fresh mint chutney. All kinds of hot breads: naan to paranthe, poori and roomali and of course, curries and dahl, and all kinds of meats cooked in the tandoori. The night was magical with a turn toward the bizarre when four eunuchs arrived to dance for us. My God, have I been living under a rock!!! A eunuch is a castrated man, at times thought to bring good luck. Music blasted as we chewed betel nut and watched the eunuchs dance one by one in "sexy" silver bras and sheer gauzy black sari skirts with bangles from their wrists to their elbows and tingling bells at their ankles. They twirled around the floor. The movements at times sensual, at times aggressive. They pulled me onto the floor to dance. Why me? Did they see me tapping my foot? I didn't know if I waas dancing with a man or women? This was the closest I'd come to sex in a while. Ah, this is India....

oyster heaven

Last day of March, bundled up in a big winter coat walking through the South End, I thought if it weren't for the weather, I could live in Boston again. Boston's getting better and better. We'd seen Doe, my book agent, Saturday night for a little "tequila research" and she asked if I was a Barbara Lynch fan? I wasn't sure how to answer! She said I had to eat at B & G Oyster Bar on my way out of town Monday. Yes, open for lunch. No reservations! All set! I loved B & G the moment I walked through the door. Basically a long grey marble bar lined with crisp white napkins and wine glasses. Immediately I thought "This is the kind of restaurant I wanna have." Sixteen different varieties of impeccably fresh oysters, lots of them from the icy cold local waters. I settled on a cool dozen, -- four Island Creek from Duxbury, very plump and briny with a sweet buttery flavor, known as the oyster that never spawns and my personal favorite! Four large, exceedingly salty Pemaquid from Maine and 4 Ninigrets from the Salt Ponds of Rhode Island. Smooth with an underlying sweetness and a pleasantly mild salinity that defies their Salt Pond upbringing. A glass of crisp Petit Chablis. Call it heaven! Oyster heaven!